by Timlin, Mark
‘She told me to take care of everything.’
‘So do it,’ said Jenner. ‘Do it for her.’
Mark nodded and stepped outside to find that Chas had knocked Thomas off the chair. He was lying on the ground squirming against his bonds like a slug in salt.
Mark walked over to Thomas and turned him over with his foot. ‘I remember everything you did, Bobby,’ he said quietly. ‘I remember how you spoiled my mum’s life. And mine.’
‘No, Mark,’ begged Thomas. ‘We had some good times. Going to football. You remember…’
Mark shook his head. ‘We never had one good time, Bobby,’ he said. ‘From the day you met her it was all crap. It all went to hell.’
‘Please, Mark…’
Mark raised the pistol in his fist as if it weighed tons instead of pounds and said: ‘How many rounds, Uncle?’
‘Nine,’ came the reply.
Mark smiled and pulled the trigger half back and Thomas crabbed across the concrete as if he could somehow escape. ‘You’re not going anywhere, Bobby,’ said Mark, adding a slight pressure with his finger. The gun fired. The first bullet hit Thomas in the thigh and he screamed. Then Mark pulled the trigger again, and again, hitting the prone man in his torso and his groin, until finally he blew half his head off and kept firing until the action blew back and the gun’s magazine was empty. But even then he kept trying to pull the trigger.
‘Get the car,’ said Jenner to Chas. ‘And start the crusher.’
‘He’s going to leak all over the place,’ moaned Chas.
‘Then get the fucking hose and sluice it down. Come on, Mark. I’ll take you home. Chas’ll bring your motor.’ Jenner gently extracted the gun from Mark’s hand and gave it to Chas. ‘And make this disappear.’
Chas nodded and walked from under the roof of the barn to where an ancient, once red Vauxhall Viva was parked up. He got in, started the engine after a couple of tries and drove it up next to the crusher.
‘Time for us to go,’ said Jenner, leading the younger man to the Jaguar and helping him into the passenger seat before getting in behind the wheel and driving back to the gates.
The last Mark saw of Bobby Thomas was Chas loading him into the boot of the red Viva.
Mark was opening the gates for his uncle’s car when he heard the crusher start up.
TWENTY-FOUR
Sitting in his car, looking up at Linda’s living room window, still lit through drawn curtains, Mark shook his head at his own stupidity as he thought back. Inside that flat was heaven. The only heaven he’d ever known or wanted. And the chance of a future with the one woman he’d ever really loved. But he’d turned his back and walked out, possibly never to return. And for what? To get back to the killing – and there’d already been too much of it in his life.
He started the engine and drove off with just one backward look into his rearview mirror at the tightly closed front door, wondering if he’d ever see her again.
He drove the short distance to Tulse Hill and slowly drifted his car down the hill towards John Jenner’s house. He quickly saw the gleam of the reflected street lights on the red cellulose of Tubbs’s BMW and its lights flashed once briefly.
Mark parked behind the Beemer and joined Tubbs in the front.
‘What’s the story?’ he asked.
‘Beretta called me an hour ago. He’d got ten grand’s worth of coke and wants to do a deal.’
‘And has to be tonight?’
‘Right.’
Mark shook his head wearily. ‘Fucked up my evening, I can tell you.’
‘Sorry about that, but I thought you’d want to know.’
‘Course I do. Right, come on, let’s go inside and get the cash. You going to be all right doing this on your own?’
‘Gonna have to be, ain’t I?’ replied the black man.
‘Where’s Eddie?’
‘At home. I could’ve put him in the boot with his sawn-off, but he gets claustrophobic. And they told me to come alone.’
‘They would. What do you reckon, Tubbs? Are they going to rip you off?’
‘They might try.’
‘That’s what worries me. You’re going in blind with a lot of money. These fuckers are mental. They’ll kill you soon as look at you.’
‘Nice thought. But they want money. And they’ve got all that dope to shift. What they’re not sticking up their own hooters. And believe me, they’re doing plenty of that. I reckon this is a try out. See if I can come up with the money sharpish and if there’s more where that came from.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘If I’m not, I’m in trouble. You got a gun?’
‘Several.’
‘Good. Handy?’
‘With the cash.’
‘Thank fuck for that.’
‘You’ve got to be so careful, Tubbs. How long is it since you used a firearm?’
‘Not since you pissed off. But you never forget.’ He paused and Mark saw fear flash in his eyes. ‘Do you?’
‘Like riding a bike. But I hope you don’t have to find out. We need to know where the stuff is being kept. Who else is about. What security they’ve got and what they’re carrying themselves. It’s bound to be heavy duty. These fucking Yardies judge their manhood by the calibre of their weapons. They’re toting fucking Uzis around London, shooting anything that moves.’
‘I know. I read the papers. Now listen, are we going to do this or sit here all night?’
‘I like your enthusiasm,’ said Mark. ‘Come on, we’ll go in mine.’ They left the BMW, walked over to Mark’s car and he drove the short distance to the gates of the house. Mark opened them with the remote Chas had given him. The black Mercedes was parked across the street still, and he could dimly see two shadowy bodies inside.
‘What’s all that in aid of?’ asked Tubbs.
‘The fuckers you’re going to make a buy off tonight and their mates.’
‘Uncle John was always good at making enemies.’
‘You can say that again.’
They left the car and crunched across the drive to the front door, which Mark opened with his key. From behind the living room door he could hear Michael Caine’s voice. ‘Come and say hello,’ he said, opening the door and pushing Tubbs inside.
John Jenner was alone watching The Italian Job on DVD. ‘You still into this old crap, John?’ said the black man, looking at the screen. ‘They don’t get away with it you know.’
‘Christ,’ Jenner said when he saw Tubbs. ‘The return of Django.’ He killed the movie with the remote.
‘Hello, John,’ said Tubbs. ‘Long time.’
‘Christ, but it is. Too long,’ said Jenner. ‘I’d get up Tubbs, but my legs are bad tonight.’
‘I heard about your troubles,’ said Tubbs who went over and shook the older man’s hand. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘That’s what life’s all about,’ said Jenner who pulled the big man closer for a clumsy embrace. ‘You look well. I can see you’re eating regular.’
‘Fried chicken,’ said Tubbs. ‘Always been my problem. Now I cook it for a living.’
‘But not for much longer, I hear,’ said Jenner. ‘You’re back in the world.’
‘If I can hack it.’
‘That’s why we’re here, Uncle,’ said Mark. ‘Tubbs is off to make a buy. We’ve come for the money and a little something to keep him healthy.’
‘Buying back our own gear, it don’t seem right.’
‘It wasn’t really our gear, Uncle,’ said Mark. ‘We’d already been paid for it once. It belonged to your mates at the cash and carry. If you want us to leave it…’ He didn’t finish.
‘No,’ Jenner almost shouted. ‘No,’ he said again more quietly. ‘Sorry, boys. I’m upset by the way things are going. So tell me all.’
Mark quickly filled Jenner in on what had happened during the day and the older man frowned. ‘Dangerous,’ he said. ‘Bloody dangerous. They’ll pop you for ten bob, Tubbs, let alone ten grand.’
‘That’s the chance I’ve got to take,’ the big man said.
‘You going with him, Mark?’
‘Not in his car. He was told to go alone. Besides, they might know me, and even if they don’t, any white face is going to set them off. But I’ll be close.’
‘Good,’ said Jenner. ‘When’re you going?’
‘Now. As soon as Mark gives me the money,’ said Tubbs.
‘Go on then, son,’ Jenner said to Mark. ‘I’ll keep Tubbs company.’
Mark left them, went down to the cellar where he made up a parcel of ten thousand pounds in a plastic supermarket bag and picked out the Browning 9mm he’d carried himself, checked the clip and took it all back upstairs. ‘Here you go, Tubbs. Now be careful. I’ll be about but I don’t want to crowd you.’
Tubbs nodded, looked inside the bag and riffled the notes. ‘All here?’ he asked.
‘Course. And this bugger’s loaded with hollow points,’ replied Mark, handing him the pistol.
Tubbs dropped the magazine out of the Browning, checked that the chamber was clear, replaced the clip and racked a round into the breech, weighing the gun in his massive hand where it looked like a toy. ‘Feels good,’ he said. Then he took out his phone, dialled a number and waited for an answer. It was picked up quickly. ‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘I’ve got what you want.’
He listened for a moment.
‘About twenty minutes. I’ll be there,’ he said, then killed the connection. ‘It’s on.’
‘Then let’s go,’ said Mark. ‘Later, Uncle.’
‘I wish I was going with you. I’d show those spades what for. No offence, Tubbs.’
‘None taken, John.’
‘I’ll wait up. We’ll have a drink when you get back.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Mark, glad he’d said ‘when’ rather than ‘if’.
‘He looks bad,’ said Tubbs, once they were outside.
‘He is,’ was all Mark said.
He dropped Tubbs off at the BMW and watched as he drove off before following. He knew where Tubbs was going so he kept well back, the bright colour of his friend’s car being easy to spot even after dark. Tubbs drove up to Streatham High Road, took a right down Brixton Hill, past the prison where Jimmy Hunter slept the sleep of the unjust, and along to Brixton Town Hall, opposite where Mark’s life and so many others had changed all those years before. But he thought of none of this as he followed his old friend on what could turn out to be the last drive of his life.
Back at the house, John Jenner was dozing in front of the TV. He hoped the boys would be all right. Mark was OK, but he didn’t know about Tubbs. He’d been too long out of the game. They needed an ally. If only his old friend Nick Sharman was about. He was the kind of bloke they needed. Sharman. Bloody hell, what a chancer.
Jenner remembered the first time they’d met. It had been on the recommendation of John’s brief, when he’d been looking for an easy way out of a sticky situation.
In those days, the early 80s, the pubs shut at three in the afternoon and the landlord of the Three Dials in Kennington Lane called time on the dot and made short shrift of the few remaining drinkers, so that by three-fifteen the bar was empty except for John Jenner, Hazel, Chas and David Lawson, Jenner’s lawyer. On the face of it, Lawson was a pillar of the establishment, with his handmade shoes and an office in St James’s, but deep down he was as bent as they come. A corrupt and evil man, he hid his dishonesty under suits from Savile Row and shirts and ties from Jermyn Street. Jenner and Chas were wearing jeans and leather jackets, and Hazel looked stunning in a black leather suit and black nylons, her red hair coiled about her shoulders like electric snakes.
The four sat together and waited for DC Sharman to arrive. At three-thirty on the dot there was a rap on the back door and the landlord went through and answered it.
‘Punctual. I like that,’ said Jenner.
‘I think there’s a lot about Nick you’re going to like,’ said Lawson.
‘We’ll see,’ said Jenner.
The man who followed the landlord through into the bar was young, tall, lean, dark haired, and wearing a slim-cut grey sharkskin suit, black, chisel-toed shoes, a white, tab collared shirt with a skinny black tie. His hair was thick and quiffed with gel, and he moved lightly on his feet, sussing out the room as he entered.
‘Who the fuck does he think he is?’ asked Chas. ‘Bryan fucking Ferry?’
Hazel shushed Chas as the young policeman came over to the table and stood silently in front of the quartet, a slight smile on his handsome face.
Lawson stood and shook his hand. ‘Nick,’ he said. ‘Good of you to come.’
‘David,’ said Sharman in reply. ‘Not a problem. Always a pleasure to see you.’
‘Gentlemen,’ said the lawyer. ‘May I introduce Detective Constable Nick Sharman? Nick, this is John Jenner, his wife Hazel, and one of his associates, name of Chas.’
‘Delighted,’ said Sharman, solemnly shaking hands all round. When he got to Hazel he held her fingers for just a beat too long.
She didn’t seem to mind, but John Jenner’s eyes narrowed. ‘Nick,’ he said. ‘I wonder if you’d mind Chas making sure it’s only us who’re going to hear this conversation?’
‘You think I might be wired?’ asked Sharman, seeming greatly amused at the prospect.
‘It’s a possibility.’
‘Fair enough.’ The policeman raised his arms and Chas patted him down, then stepped back and shook his head. ‘Clean,’ he said.
‘My apologies,’ said Jenner.
‘No problem,’ came the reply.
‘Please sit,’ said Jenner.
Sharman did so, pulling a packet of Silk Cut and a brass Zippo from his pocket. He offered them round, and all but Lawson accepted. He flicked on the lighter, lit all four, Hazel’s first, and dropped it back on the table. As he did so the cuff of his shirt slid back revealing a Rolex watch with a metal bracelet. Sharman saw them notice and smiled.
‘Drink?’ asked Jenner.
‘Scotch,’ replied the detective.
‘Four large ones,’ Jenner said to the landlord. ‘And a vodka and orange for Hazel. Then get lost.’
The landlord set about making the screwdriver just as Hazel liked it. Lots of ice, a slice of lemon, a large vodka and a bottle of Britvic orange in a tall glass. He served her first then went back to the bar, brought over four clean glasses, a bottle of malt and a jug of water on a tray, set them out, cleared away the dirty pots, put them on the counter, and left.
‘And don’t come back ’til you’re told,’ added Jenner without thanks. ‘And don’t be fucking earwigging or Chas’ll have your legs.’
When the men’s glasses were charged and ‘cheers’ had been exchanged, Jenner leant forward and said: ‘We’ve never met, but David here has said good things about you, Nick. You don’t mind me calling you Nick, do you?’
‘No problem,’ replied Sharman around the edge of his glass. ‘But we did meet once.’
‘When?’ asked Jenner with a frown. He didn’t like not knowing.
‘A couple of years back, when I was in uniform,’ said Sharman. ‘I gave you a parking ticket round the back of the Elephant. Nice old Aston Martin, as I remember.’
‘And we spoke?’
‘Yeah. You tore up the ticket and threw it at me, called me a cunt too. Excuse my language, Mrs Jenner.’
There was a moment’s silence, then the company roared with laughter. ‘Did I pay it?’ asked Jenner.
‘David did, as I recall,’ replied the cop.
‘Probably,’ said Lawson. ‘Just one of the perks of the job. Clearing up after John.’
‘No hard feelings, I hope, Nick?’ said Jenner.
‘I could’ve done you for assault,’ said Sharman. ‘But when I checked out the registration and found out it was you I decided not to. I reckoned one day we might meet again, and maybe to our mutual advantage.’
‘And here you are,’ said the older man.
‘And David says you’ve got something to sell.’
‘Well, not exactly sell,’ said the policeman. ‘More like hire. When you need them, if you know what I mean.’
‘Maybe,’ said Jenner. ‘What is it exactly?’
Rather than answer immediately, Sharman said: ‘I’ve only been married for a little while. And wives are expensive.’ He smiled at Hazel who smiled back. ‘And she wants to have a baby. Even more expense. And I’ve got a few other expenses too.’
‘Like what?’
‘I like nice things. Clothes…’ He touched the lapel of his jacket that was so sharp it almost cut him ‘…and a decent motor.’
‘And a decent watch,’ said Lawson.
‘Exactly.’ Then he sniffed exaggeratedly.
‘And a bit of hokey cokey, I’ll bet,’ said Chas, entering the conversation for the first time.
‘There is that,’ said Sharman and, as he said it, the sun went in and the bar darkened and the four others at the table saw that there was something of the night about the young policeman. But something of the night was a trait they all shared.
‘So,’ said Jenner.
‘So, what I earn isn’t enough to keep me and my new missus in the way we’d like to become accustomed.’
‘So?’ said Jenner again.
Sharman reached into the top pocket of his jacket and fished out a leather folder and tossed it on to the table. It flipped open and inside was his warrant card. ‘So that’s for hire,’ he said. ‘And this.’ He put his foot on an empty chair next to him, pulled up his trouser leg and pulled out a short-barrelled .38 revolver from an ankle holster and gently placed it beside his glass and cigarettes as the three men stiffened and Chas went as if to reach inside his coat. Hazel put a restraining hand on his arm.
‘Relax,’ she said. ‘We’re all friends here, I hope. Or, will be soon. And you can call me, Hazel, Nick.’
Sharman smiled at her again, then turned to Chas. ‘You missed that,’ he said. ‘Could’ve been a transmitter.’
Chas just sat in his seat and seethed.
‘You can use that?’ asked Jenner, nodding at the gun and ignoring Chas’s discomfort.